


Meaningless Words

by Elmatpe



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elmatpe/pseuds/Elmatpe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens when you try to force understanding into mindless creatures. </p>
<p>Set in Dragon Age Origins the Awakening. The main character is an OC Disciple but The Architect and the Mother play a major role.</p>
<p>Originally posted in ff.net the 12th of January of 2012</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meaningless Words

**Author's Note:**

> Although The Warden is mentioned it is up to the reader to choose his/her gender.

Darkspawn emissaries are known to be unlike other darkspawn not only for their ability to use magic but also because they may be intelligent enough as to speak. This had not be the Scribe's case. It knew some magic spells but not until after the Architect had awakened it had words come out its mouth instead of the growls that all the other hurlocks uttered. 

The Scribe had enjoyed speaking from the very moment it heard the sound of its voice, even if it had been a rough nonsensical sound unlike the soft and calmed voice of the Architect, who, with the help of his many books; collected during years of searching around the Deeproads, taught the Scribe the rudiments of language: how to speak, read and write. With every new word learned, the more understanding of the world they lived in; and with more understanding the more intelligent the Scribe became. When it knew enough words and their meaning it had even be allowed to choose its own name, and, oh, that did make it feel proud! Choosing its name was a luxury that other creatures, not even the humans and dwarves, did not have as someone else always chose their name for them. 

The Scribe had always remembered a certain conversation it once had with the Architect some years ago not long after being awakened and thus becoming one of the few Disciples:

“The people in the books, humans, dwarves, elves... they refer to themselves as 'man' or 'woman', 'male' and 'female', I think I have never seen this difference in hurlocks, genlocks, shrieks nor ogres...” it had said.

“No, you have not, because there is none. The gender, 'man' and 'woman', is needed in the other races because of their nature” had been the Architect's answer. The confused look in the Scribe's face showed that it had not understood. “In their nature both genders are needed to reproduce. In this, darkspawn are different from humans, dwarves or elves.”

The Disciple was starting to understand. “Yes, we have broodmothers...”

“And do you remember the meaning of 'mother'?” 

The Scribe nodded. “A mother gives birth, brings new life to the world: her children. Women become pregnant and later when they give birth they become mothers because they have a child. Only females can be mothers because only females can get pregnant. So... if only the broodmothers can give birth to new darkspawn that means that the only darkspawn females are the broodmothers. Then the rest of darkspawn must be males...”

The Architect somehow managed a sad smile in spite of his taut skin, just like any other parent would be proud of the progress of his children, it was always comforting to see his Disciples use their newly acquired understanding of things and this particular Disciple was very proficient in that aspect, it was not casual that it had chosen to be called 'The Scribe'. But there were other gentler attributes that usually described a mother, attributes that could not be used to describe broodmothers. Oblivious to this, the Scribe was happy with its new realization and decided to refer to itself as a 'he' from then. 

Alas, not even the pleasure of learning was enough to make up for the great loss that becoming a Disciple entailed: he could not hear the Song anymore. Before the Awakening, there was the Song, it had filled his body and mind, it was all that mattered. The goal in his life had been to search the source of the Song and release it and there had been no space left in his being for any other purpose. He wished he could have listened to it better, he could only imagine how it would have sounded during the recent Blight, but he had already been an awakened Disciple when that happened. The Scribe used to admire the Architect for all the things he had taught him but the more time that passed without hearing the mind-soothing Song the more he despised the Architect for his treachery, he took the Song away from him and the other Disciples but there was something that angered him even more: the Architect had been the one that found the Archdemon, the one who released it and its Song, if he truly had wanted to release the darkspawn from the Calling of the so called Old Gods, why had he kept searching for the source of the Song? Maybe he just wanted the Song for himself. 

Feeling betrayed and full of disdain, The Scribe had left the Architect's side as soon as the Blight began. There were others like him that took refuge with The Mother. By then, he already knew the other attributes of a mother that the Architect had not mentioned in their conversation and the Mother seemed to represent them, or, at least, so it seemed as far as the Scribe knew of mothers, he had understood the theoretical linguistic terms such as that a mother cared about her children and wished the best for them. The Mother wanted them to hear the Song again, that was definitely something good. 

Still, it felt strange to call her 'mother', she was indeed a broodmother, the kind that spawned hurlocks, like himself, but she was not his real mother. No, the broodmother that brought him into existence was in Kal'Hirol, the once proud dwarven thaig had turned into a breeding ground for darkspawn long ago, but she did not care about him, her mind was too primitive for understanding what caring for others meant, she did not even recognize him, all she could do was eat, spawn and, luckily, hear the Song. 

When he thought about these things he felt a foreboding feeling inside him. It was not the same feeling that had made him leave the Architect so it couldn't be anger. Was it sadness? He thought so. This was another of the things that annoyed him the most, the more his mind developed the more it was flooded with thoughts and feelings. Oh, how he missed the old days when all that mattered had been the Song, nothing troubled his mind those days.

Of all the places that could make these feelings to come to disturb him he hadn't thought that a battlefield would be one. 

He was inside the walls of Amaranthine, the Mother had sent her horde of children to destroy this city and the Warden Commander's Keep once and for all, the warden could not be in two places at the same time, which would he defend? 

Even if through the study of maps and notes long forgotten by the dwarves he had been the one to find the closest spot in the Deep Roads to the natural caves below Amaranthine, he had not been among the first darkspawn to attack so, when he emerged from the tunnel they had dug under the city, chaos had already overcome. He turned to the darkspawn behind him.

“Kill the guards, men and women, whoever crosses your path, we are not making prisoners only the heads of the Grey Wardens for the Mother to feast on!” he gestured the unawakened to attack, they liked his voice just like he had when he first heard it and they would do as the one with the gift of speech commanded. There were shouts of other Disciples saying similar things but the sounds of fighting muffled them while the fire and smoke hid them from his sight.

As a spellcaster, he walked behind those armed with the wicked swords that were the darkspawn custom weapon, that way he was also in a better position to survey his acolytes and give orders if necessary. Surveying the area was also important and after walking some streets and butchering the humans that had crossed their path, the Scribe heard something not far away from the way they had come, it was some kind of sob. Had they missed someone in their bloodbath? Well, that was not acceptable, he liked being true to his word. 

As he turned around, a small group of other darkspawn noticed his change of direction and instinctively followed him. Half-hidden between what used to be two large market stalls was a small wooden door that hadn't been knocked down, _yet_. Easy to break it down with a shot of his staff. When he stepped in he was greeted by a pointy sword but its owner was not a warrior and he quickly put the magic staff in the way of the blade, blocking the attack.

“Dad!” someone screamed inside the house.

“Faren! Go with your mother and brothers! Now!” the man holding the sword barked.

The Scribe cocked his head with curiosity, “Mother...?” But before the man could say anything else, a genlock cut one his legs making him fall to the ground in pain where he was quickly disposed of by the other darkspawn.

“Dad!! NOOOOOO!!” the same voice screamed, a young boy came running straight to them but he dropped dead even faster that his progenitor. 

The blighted creatures around him began entering the home and so he did as well. It didn't take long to find the people the man had mentioned, a couple of women and some kids, scared and trembling. They were in the basement seemingly trying to flee through a secret trapdoor, but now they were surrounded. To the Scribe the situation was, if anything, ironic.

“To escape darkspawn from underground? Through the very same caves that allowed us to enter your city?” he laughed.

One of the women as well as the eldest of the kids, both dressed in some kind of light armor and holding short swords were already taking a defensive position.

“Oh, my poor Faren!! Monsters! You've killed my poor Faren!” the other woman who seemed to be older was desperately crying.

“Mother! Take the boys and run away! We'll buy you some time” the younger woman yelled while she was already engaged in battle with two hurlocks.

There was it again, _'mother'_. 

The older woman pushed the crying children into the trapdoor. The Scribe hurried to stop them but the armed boy, who had seen how he had changed his grip in the magical staff, put off his fight with a genlock assassin and pounced on the Scribe, making both of them to fall to the ground. 

Growling, the Disciple rolled to the side pinning his attacker below him and quickly grabbed his neck, he would have killed him then had it not been for a blow he received in the back.

“Don't you dare to touch my children! You horrible creature!” the older woman was wielding a chunk of wood, one of the floorboards they had removed to get to the secret passage. 

“Mother, no...” the boy coughed. 

“Mother? Children?” the emissary blinked, while the words danced in his mind the boy got up to tackle the very same genlock he had been brawling with just seconds ago, preventing it to harm his mother. 

The woman tried to wallop the Scribe in the head with her improvised weapon as he got up. He effortlessly evaded the hit, but he did not return the attack, he was curious.

“Children? Did you say 'children'? Are you a 'mother'?” she attempted a new blow, but this time he caught the board in his hands “The children are protecting you.”

“I will protect them as well” she spatted. 

At that moment the younger woman cried in pain as one of the hurlocks sank its sword in her belly. The mother yelled her name as she burst into tears, for some reason, that disturbed the Disciple. She let go of the board and ran towards her dying daughter, while the boy fought even more fiercely against the genlock managing to kill it just in time to face the two hurlocks that already were charging towards his mother. 

The mother crouched next to her child and helplessly watched life abandon her. With her face red and hatred in her eyes she took the sword her daughter had been holding and attempted to stab one of the darkspawn that where now trying to gut her son, but he creature saw her coming and elbowed her in the ribs before she had the chance to hit it.

“Mum! Run away!” the boy shouted as he struggled with one hurlock at the same time he tried to make the other one not to attack his mother but that was too much for him. He was thrown off balance and fell to the ground again, at that instant both creatures threw themselves on him and he moved no more. 

The Scribe had watched the whole scene in shock, the disturbing feelings were haunting his mind. Mother and Children. Until that moment his mind had related those terms to the Mother and himself and the other darkspawn. Even though he had learned the words, their meaning and the connotations related to them in a book written by the same creatures he was fighting now, it hadn't crossed his mind how real the things he had read were as he had tried to apply them to the creatures surrounding him, but neither his own biological mother nor the other darkspawn knew of this feelings and so he had almost discarded them as an abstract theory or like a fairytale, a beautiful story but nothing else. Now he had this woman in front of him that was more pained for her children than he had ever seen the Mother when she had been told that the First as well as her precious 'Children' had been killed in the marsh. That was another thing that had always him thinking: why did the Mother call 'Children' only to those beings? Did she love them more than she loved the rest? Did she truly love them? While this woman had run to protect her offspring, even if it was hopeless, and had made the younger run away, the Mother carelessly sent hers to war, he suddenly realized that would mean that the Mother did not care about them as much as this human worried about her own, not even her precious 'Children' she had tried to keep from harm. 

Another thought crossed his mind at that moment: What about himself? What could be said about him? What was the point of being awakened and becoming sentient if he could not even understand his feelings? The Architect had sent troops to attack Kal'Hirol, his mother was there, shouldn't he be there to protect her like these people had tried to protect their mother? What had happened there? Was she still alive? Didn't he love his mother? Didn't he feel sadness when he tried to talk to her and bring her treats in hopes that she would notice him? Had he done it just because he had read children liked to earn their parents approval or had he actually done it because he truly cared about her? 

There was a new feeling inside him, he could sense it crush both his mind and his innards in an even worse way than the day he had felt betrayed by the Architect. It was not anger nor sadness, it was fear. He feared for his mother's life. Yes, he cared about her.

He didn't see what happened with the woman and her children but he heard her scream while he ran away, out of the house, through the streets and into the tunnel they had come from, unaware that by doing this he had just escaped a certain death, for the army of the Mother would be defeated.

He kept running until he nearly collapsed. Pausing every now and then for a brief moment to catch his breath before he continued. Despite his insane pace, it took him almost a day to get to the thaig.

The halls were full with the corpses of darkspawn, whether if they had fought for the Architect or the Mother he couldn't tell, now there was no difference. The scene in the breeding grounds was worse, his mother, all the broodmothers, their bodies smashed under a massive lyrium container. 

Again, anger, all of it directed against the Architect, he had done this, hadn't he? Darkspawn killing other darkspawn deliberately, such a 'human' or 'dwarven' thing to do. Their kind had never done this kind of thing before, everything was the Architect's fault! He had said that the Mother had gone crazy, that she couldn't endure the Awakening, well how could she? The Scribe didn't blame her for that, it was already hard enough for him to remain sane without the compelling force of the Song and having to deal with his many thoughts, how could she be calm? He had read about the pains of labor, and broodmothers had to go through giving birth repeatedly. He could imagine that for a mindless creature such as his biological mother it would be almost unbearable but for the Mother who was able of thought the experience had to be a maddening torture, she must have been pleading for the Song to come back and sooth her aching body. What a cruelty to make such being conscious! 

Yet, in that pain, her will hadn't been broken, she didn't merely take pity on herself, she also wanted her children to hear the Song encouraging them to take action for themselves and for her. What else could she do with the humongous body that made her immobile? 

How blind had he been before!! Of course she loved them! And he had disobeyed her like an ungrateful brat. He would apologize to her and try to ease her pain.

***

Too late.

There she lied, motionless, the beloved Mother. Only the Scribe was still there to mourn for her.

“What now?” he thought to himself. Until that moment, his life and actions had been directed by others: first the Song, then the Architect and lastly the Mother. Now, he had been detached of everything he had relied on. It was about time to act on his own behalf. 

He knew what had happened: the Grey Wardens and the Architect. The first he couldn't blame, their only purpose was to kill darkspawn and now he understood that after what they had done during the Blight and in Amaranthine if the Wardens had families or people they were fond of they would have had many other reasons to do this, but the Architect was a complete different case. Had it not been for his execrable experiments the darkspawn would had not divided themselves into tribes to kill each other, sure, some rows here and then were inevitable but wars among beings of the same race was not something darkspawn had known before, only in the history of men and dwarf had the Scribe found records of such a thing.

He had made his decision. He had known the Architect for years, he was a creature of reason, if he was able to see that his work was a delusion, the Scribe would gladly accept his excuses but if he persisted with his plans, before he separated more of his brethren from the Song, the Scribe would correct that the Wardens hadn't made the Architect suffer the same fate as the Mother. 

The first thing to do was to find a entrance to the Deep Roads, and none could he find within the Mother's lair where he had arrived through the Dragonbone Wastes, as he usually did. The tunnels had been blocked, he didn't mind whether the Mothers' darkspawn survivors and the Architect had done it to prevent the Wardens to follow or these had done it to avoid any darkspawn coming out of this place in the future, in any case both were the logical thing to do so he wasn't surprised. 

He took one last but short look at the Mother as he headed outside. Something good had come of all of this: she had been released of her pain. 


End file.
